


Tarth & Lannister, Wedding Planners

by LadyRhiyana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Brienne is calm and competent and Jaime loves it, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Fluff fluff and nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: After leaving the army, Brienne wanted to do something that would make people happy.Jaime just wanted to make Brienne smile.(Sandor and Bronn tagged along because they had nothing better to do.)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 50
Kudos: 160
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange Stocking Stuffers 2020





	Tarth & Lannister, Wedding Planners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmpressM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressM/gifts).



> Dear EmpressM, I hope you enjoy this soufflé-light piece of fluff! Hopefully it falls within at least two of your prompts.

**Prologue**

The war was over. They had not won, and they had not lost, but the war was over – and now they had to go back to the real world. 

It all felt slightly unreal. 

**

“What are you going to do when we get back, Lannister?” Bronn asked. “Go back to being an heir?” 

Jaime ignored him, watching the passing landscape far below, pretending to be deafened by the sound of the chopper blades. He had absolute confidence in Brienne’s piloting skills; he knew even without turning that her strong, freckled hands would have a sure grip on the stick, that she would be calm and controlled even in the worst conditions.

“The first thing I’ll do,” Bronn continued, “is get me a nice, fat –”

“Shut your fucking gob,” Sandor growled. “We all know what you’ll do.”

Jaime slanted a sidelong grin at Brienne. She met his eyes, her own blue gaze filled with slow, lurking warmth. 

When he’d first met her she had appeared dour, humourless and even sullen. Now he knew her to be calm and infinitely capable, her height and strength concealing a gentle kindness that she did her best to hide from the world. 

She rarely joined in with their back and forth, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. 

“What about you, Tarth?” Bronn asked, not silenced in the least. “You gonna go into security? You should ask Lannister – he’ll need a bodyguard to fight off all the gold diggers.”

“I don’t want to go into security,” Brienne said, calm and level as always. “I want to do something that makes people happy.” 

Jaime grinned. “Like what?” 

She shrugged, her shoulders broad beneath her camouflage flight-suit. “I don’t know. Something to do with – weddings, maybe.” 

** 

**Two years later**

The Stark-Tyrell wedding was the biggest society event of the year.

Jaime had gone to boarding school with the Tyrell bride’s eldest brother Willas. He’d known Margaery since she was a rebellious schoolgirl in a too-short skirt. 

When they arrived at Highgarden to make their pitch, he saw that she still had a shrewd, rebellious gleam in her limpid brown eyes, though she was poised and elegant now, her dark curls luxurious and perfectly styled. 

“Jaime,” she said warmly, leaning up on her tiptoes to brush her lips over his cheek. She wore subtle, expensive perfume and her simple linen dress was outrageously chic. 

“What’s this?” he drawled, returning the gesture. “The last time I saw you, Margie, you’d just been suspended for smoking in the girls’ toilets.”

Her prospective bride, a slender redhead with a bright smile, laughed in delight and demanded details.

Margaery made a face at him. “I see you’re still an arsehole, Jaime.” 

He laughed. “And now you’re about to be married! Well, Tarth & Lannister will plan you the perfect wedding –”

“Wait,” she said, “ _you’re_ involved in the planning?” 

“Ah,” he said. “Well. Not really. Brienne is the true genius behind it all.” 

** 

The truth is, Jaime knew fuck all – and cared even less – about weddings.

But Brienne, with her not-so-secret romantic streak, had wanted to do something that made her happy, and Jaime had been willing to do whatever it took to lift the shadows from her eyes. He’d instantly agreed to become a wedding planner with her, and had been rewarded by a shy, joyous smile. 

Sandor and Bronn had tagged along because they had nothing better to do. 

They’d got their first weddings via the ancient and honourable practice of nepotism. For the first year or so, Brienne had honed her fledgling skills on a number of lesser Lannister weddings. Long years of exposure to Jaime had prepared her for the particular reality bubble created by unimaginable wealth; long years of combat had prepared her for hysterical brides, contradictory requests, unexpected crises and once, even, an attempted poisoning. 

She was calm and collected under pressure, and the radiant smile on her face as she watched the weddings she planned with military thoroughness unfold like ethereal fantasies was enough to convince Jaime it was all worth it. 

** 

“And what’s your part in the business, boy?” Olenna Tyrell asked. “Don’t tell me you had anything to do with planning these weddings,” she said, pointing her cane at the blown up sample pictures they had provided from their portfolio. “I know Lannister tastes, and they run to crimson velvet and gold foil.” 

“Jaime is the public face of our company, Lady Olenna,” Brienne said, stepping in front of him to protect him from enemy fire, as she always did. 

“You mean he provides the money and the contacts,” the old woman said cynically. 

Jaime only laughed. 

** 

It had soon become clear that Jaime’s tactical brilliance in the field had not translated to planning weddings. He’d quickly been relegated to using his looks and charm to draw in the customers – this, he could do in his sleep, schmoozing and networking drummed into him from infancy – though there were still times he had to bite his too-clever tongue when impatience got the better of him. 

Sandor handled any practical construction needs. He ditched his rifle and ammunition belt for a hammer and a tool belt. If something needed building, he built it with careful, craftsmanlike skill; the sight of him hammering and drilling in his jeans and tight white t-shirt, biceps bulging, had drawn many an admiring glance. 

Bronn was their go-to man for extraordinary and desperate measures. A bride wanted a bouquet made up of endangered orchids that grew only in the jungles of Sothyros? Bronn knew a man who knew a man. Essosi customs had impounded a cargo ship carrying something desperately needed for a wedding the next day? Bronn knew which palms to grease, and which arms to twist. 

But it was Brienne who was the heart of Tarth & Lannister. She took such joy in the magic and romance of weddings that even the most cynical of their employees could not help but be caught up in her delight. 

Jaime had once seen Sandor and even Bronn discreetly sniffing as a happy couple exchanged their first married kiss, the sun sinking behind them in a blaze of colour. 

** 

“Jaime,” Brienne said, after they had won the Stark-Tyrell wedding, “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” 

They were back at their office, a discreet, airy, tasteful loft in the fashionable part of Flea Bottom. Soft-focus pictures of Brienne’s past weddings hung on the walls, and the air smelled of spring flowers and rain.

“Of course you would have,” he said, pouring them both a glass of champagne. “You can do anything you set your mind to.” 

“No,” Brienne insisted, looking away. “Do you remember, when Bronn asked us what we wanted to do when we got out? The first thing – the only thing – that came into my mind was wedding planning. Without you, I wouldn’t have had the confidence; I would have let my doubts and hesitations stop me from even trying. But with you by my side, I felt as if I could do anything.” 

“Brienne,” Jaime said helplessly. 

She looked up, trapping him in the depths of her blue, blue gaze. She put down her glass, got to her feet and crossed over to stand before him. Drawing in a deep breath, she framed his face with her hands, leaned down and kissed him, slow and sweet. 

Her hands were calloused, but gentle, so gentle. Her lips were soft and slightly chapped. Her tiny sigh as he stepped into her and leaned into the kiss was like a revelation. 

“I won’t call you a fairy-tale prince,” she whispered afterwards as they stood close together, foreheads touching, “because you’re arrogant, quick-tempered and you can’t stop yourself from making clever remarks.” He laughed, and she took his hands in her own, threaded their fingers together. “But no one else would have helped me build a fairy-tale of my own. Only you.”

When she stepped back and smiled at him, joyful and happy and completely unselfconscious, her eyes shone like stars. 

**

**Author's Note:**

> Not mentioned in the main fic because of extreme alliteration, but an honourable mention to Pia, Pod, Peck, Piper and Paege, their logistical and admin support team.


End file.
